


brokeback got us good

by prequels



Category: Batman - All Media Types, DCU, DCU (Animated), DCU (Comics), DCU (Movies)
Genre: Aged-Up Character(s), Breaking the Fourth Wall, M/M, Shameless Smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-08-26
Updated: 2015-08-26
Packaged: 2018-04-17 07:51:15
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,533
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4658568
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/prequels/pseuds/prequels
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The credits rolled. Jason, who usually talked his mouth off during movies, sat motionless, silent. Jason was hyperaware of everything; his beet-red ears, the cinematographers scrolling up, up and away on the screen, the plush pillow perfectly positioned upon his lap. Worst of all, he felt Bruce's eyes on him, curious and confused at his rigid stance, his impossible silence. "Good acting," Bruce said after a moment. Jason gave a stiff nod. "Great plot. I've never been a Heath Ledger fan, but he really killed it." A long pause; a deep breath; and then --<br/>"Well, one thing's for sure. Looks like Damian won't be watching Brokeback Mountain anytime soon, right Jase?"</p>
            </blockquote>





	brokeback got us good

**Author's Note:**

> (( JASON TODD AGED UP TO 22/23 )) this is not meant to be statutory rape in any way and i regret not clarifying that at first publication

It was the last night he'll ever spend with Jason Todd, but Bruce didn't know that -- not yet.

Jason didn't know it, either, but he feels something in him, that finality, a sense that's been coming and going for a few days, now. Just last Tuesday, as they sat down for lunch, Jason suddenly knew, though he couldn't say how, that this would be his last burrito.

And he didn't even splurge for guac.

Jason wasn't sure what it meant this time, the pit in his stomach -- his last time watching the Breakfast Club? His last shower with good water pressure? -- but in any event, he pretended it wasn't there. He'd gotten used to it, somewhat, and knew that whatever it was, it wasn't going to be as good if he's thinking about what all this "last" business meant.

Maybe he could see the future. Who knows.

There had never been an official "movie night" in Wayne Manor, but Dick had gotten awful upset the last time he visited from Jump City and they didn't have the Lion King waiting for him, so Jason and Bruce had stocked up. Bruce needed to know which ones were appropriate for his young son and, well, they'd never set anything down on the calendar for Sunday nights, but this was the fifteenth in a row (not counting nights of surveillance, reconnaissance, and regular old crime fighting). So here they were, raking through Jake Gyllenhaal movies like their lives depended on it. And this last one -- jeez, Jason wished they'd never picked it off the rack, but it was a two-for-one deal with Donnie Darko, so they procrastinated until it was the one of the last ones left. It was difficult to watch in all the right ways, painstakingly slow and scintillating, and by God, was it good.

The credits rolled. Jason, who usually talked his mouth off during movies, sat motionless, silent. Jason was hyperaware of everything; his beet-red ears, the cinematographers scrolling up, up and away on the screen, the plush pillow perfectly positioned upon his lap. Worst of all, he felt Bruce's eyes on him, curious and confused at his rigid stance, his impossible silence. "Good acting," Bruce said after a moment. Jason gave a stiff nod. "Great plot. I've never been a Heath Ledger fan, but he really killed it." A long pause; a deep breath; and then --

"Well, one thing's for sure. Looks like Damian won't be watching Brokeback Mountain anytime soon, right Jase?"

Despite himself, Jason let out a laugh, feeling it jolt inside of him, and begged his voice not to crack. "You can say that again."

Bruce chuckled. "I say we get washed up and come back for Source Code. If it's as bad as Bubble Boy, we can turn in early. Sound good?"

It was like a godsend; Jason couldn't nod his approval fast enough. He'd never been a praying man, but, retreating to the bathroom for a cold shower, Jason hoped the Lord could hear his thoughts: God, I know it's my last **something** \-- please don't let it be my last erection.

 

Luckily for Jason, sauntering out of the bathroom with a loose towel wrapped around his waist only to find Bruce doing the same in the doorway of the master bedroom, it most certainly wasn't.

"Goddamn!" Jason shouted, flinging the shampoo bottle in his hand across the room. It hit the television screen with a thump, bouncing off of Michelle Williams' face on the homescreen. Startled and confused, Bruce looked down at the shampoo bottle. Up at Michelle Williams. Out at Jason Todd. Back at the shampoo bottle. Finally, he made eye contact with Jason and chuckled to himself, like it was Saturday morning and his favorite cartoon was on. He shifted his weight onto his hip, his towel dropping another half inch, and Jason gave a loud, pathetic groan. "What's wrong, Jase?" Bruce asked with a smirk, beginning to close the distance between the two.

But it was too late; the towel around Jason's waist was already tented, and he bit his lip to stop from moaning at the friction he felt against the terrycloth. "Goddamnit, Bruce," he growled, stepping backward into the bathroom. "Twenty minutes of hard work thinking of dead puppies in a cold shower, all for nothing!"

Something changed then, a breeze blowing in from the open window and setting Jason's nerves on fire; something had definitely changed. Bruce swiped his thumb over his lower lip, walking closer, and Jason backed up again, hitting the glass shower door with a bang. "All for nothing, huh?"

That's when Jason Todd realizes he'd been punk'd.

He should have seen it the moment Bruce suggested Gyllenhaal for movie night. He knew Brokeback Mountain was sitting there at the bottom of the pile, just waiting for him. He was in a towel, but, by God, he hadn't even showered. Just put the towel on, for show. He'd fooled Jason Todd, like only Bruce Wayne knew how.

"You son of a bitch," Jason whispered, in awe, in fear.

And then Bruce was right there, a fraction of an inch from him, hands creeping around his slim body. Jason forgot how to breathe. This was certainly not how he expected movie night to go, he thought, as Bruce tugged off his towel, feeling the cold air on his bare body. Without command, his hips jutted forward, colliding with Bruce's own towel, and Bruce hissed; his hands, still around his sidekick, squeezed his ass sharply, and Jason let out a howl.

"The son of a bitch," Bruce agrees, and Jason stills, "who's gonna fuck you raw."

Jason could have come right there, if he thought Bruce would let him.

Instead, he was being bent over the sink, that strong hand on his neck just like he liked it -- how did Bruce know? Jason tried to speak, but, face pressed against the porcelain, his words came out garbled and unintelligible. And Bruce's cock, just as long and hard as he'd always shamefully imagined, its length fit between his cheeks just to tempt him as Bruce leaned toward the medicine cabinet to pull out the lube.

Jason jerked his head up, twisting his neck around to smirk at Bruce. "Left over from Dick's run?" He asked mischievously before Bruce grabbed him by the back of his head and planted his face back on the porcelain.

"You wish," Bruce growled. And he was right. The thought of Bruce taking another man in this house, while Jason was upstairs, falling soundly asleep on his lonely bed, made Jason ball his fists. He was waiting, patient, all this time, while Bruce was down in the master bedroom sticking his dick up Penguin's ass --

Okay, maybe a _little_ unrealistic. But still.

"Relax," Bruce said with a chuckle, stroking himself with lube. "Trust me, you're gonna want to, Jase." Bruce ran his middle finger around Jason' rim, and he let out a low hiss, shaking his head as much as he could in its position.

"Make it hurt," he said in a low voice, still riled up, almost like an order. The absurdity of it made Bruce laugh, and, without a second thought, he stuck one wet finger into Jason as the younger boy gasped and grinded his hips against the sink stand.

"You know I'm not going to do that," Bruce whispered, suddenly in his ear, stretching him a bit before inserting another finger. The breath on his neck, the stubble that scraped behind his ear, it soothed Jason, and he felt his body relax; Bruce took full advantage of the moment and thrust two more fingers in, reveling in the pleasured yelp that came out of Jason's mouth.

From there, it was almost too easy. Bruce extracted his hand and pushed it forward into Jason's mouth, who took it greedily, sucking on each finger until Bruce groaned against him. Jason pouted at him, needy, but quickly shut up when Bruce finally penetrated him. They groaned in unison, Jason's louder but Bruce's deeper, and Bruce went hard and fast, staying shallow just to hear Jason cry "Deeper, God! Deeper, Bruce!"

Pulling his hair, Bruce yanked Jason's head up, just enough to look in the mirror and see himself getting fucked raw. Faces flushed, slack-jawed open mouths, staring at each other through the foggy mirror, still damp from Jason's cold shower. Bruce gave a short, satisfied smile in between deep thrusts, and that's when Jason knew: they looked perfect, right there in that backwards reflection, more perfect than they had ever been before.

Bruce squeezed his balls and Jason came, reeling, screaming Bruce's name like a prayer, and lay limp, waves of pleasure still racking through him, against the sink for a few more moments until Bruce came inside of him, going still but shaking, staying silent but breathing louder than ever, and somehow, for Jason, it was better than his own orgasm, to feel it drip out of him while he stared at Bruce in the mirror.

It was the last time he'd ever feel this happy, at least until he dies tomorrow. But Bruce didn't know that, and Jason could pretend he didn't, too.


End file.
